


Cognitive Dissonance

by Eunoia2140



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eunoia2140/pseuds/Eunoia2140
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She's like a storm. Or fog. Always escaping your grasp no matter how hard you try to catch her. Elusive. Enigmatic. Making you feel hazy—thinking that maybe you could get lost in her for ages. But get too caught up and you’re bound to get hurt.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognitive Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> Can we discuss the beauty of Carol? Endless applause to such a talented cast and thoughtful director. Incredible, ground-breaking story. Thank you so much for this gem.

Therese had never been one for fantasies. She'd lived her life like the moon's rotation around the earth: precise, respectfully distanced, and hardly acknowledged. Personally, she thought the moon was important—very important indeed, and particularly beautiful to photograph, albeit rather difficult—and wished that fewer people took it for granted. Space was such an intriguing idea, such a beautiful, celestial being that it made her shudder simply thinking about it. Every planet, every star, every rock and photon of light deserved proper recognition—they were each magnificent in their own way.

Soft lips and cold hands brought her back to reality. She turned her head to gaze into blue eyes, so strikingly different from her own. It made her self-conscious, and she looked away quickly, biting her lower lip. Mild shame heated her cheeks when familiar fingers ghosted over her forearms.

“Therese.” Honey, velvet, or perhaps something a little rougher, like the hum of a hummingbird's wings—Therese would never be able to justly label Carol Aird's voice. “To lose one's self in reverie, one must be either very happy, or very unhappy,” Carol whispered in her ear, holding her close.

“Reverie is the child of extremes,” Therese finished, just as quietly.

“What troubles you, darling?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Therese pulled away, fingering the edge of her shirt to distract herself. For a few fleeting moments she thought Carol was cross with her, but her fears were banished when the blonde placed her hands on Therese's shoulders. A simple, comforting gesture that stirred warmth in the girl's chest.

“Carol.” Therese melted into the touch, then took a step forward, glanced over her shoulder all in the same breath. “Carol,” she tried again, “I–I don't know about this, about”—a pause, the synapses of her brain hesitating—“us. I have this feeling, this horrible, wretched feeling that something is wrong—not with you or me individually but with what we are together. And it's not strong enough to make me want to leave you. I love you.” She had never said those three words with so much conviction to anyone ever before. There was an aspect about Carol Aird that drew Therese Belivet to her, both physically and emotionally.

And that aspect was love. A deep, insatiable love that made Therese's very heart ache, made her question her ability to survive without a soul until the day she locked eyes with a stunning blonde across a dull department store floor.

Carol didn't follow the girl's footsteps, instead keeping her distance, allowing Therese to set her thoughts in order in the best way she liked—alone. Her rich voice was gentle as ever when she spoke: “You dwell too deeply on your emotions. Love is love. Whether it branches from our hearts, souls, minds, or bodies, that stifling feeling that makes you feel as if you're losing your mind—that makes you question your moralities—is something so pure and joyous that worry cannot touch it. Live in this moment—our moment. I beg of you.” Therese could hear the sudden exhaustion in her voice, and imagined her eyes closing in the way they did whenever she was weary. “I love you, Therese. That should be the only thought keeping you awake at night.”

The brunette crossed the distance between them; any hesitance washed away, and took Carol's face in her hands, brushing their lips together. It was always this way when they kissed; permission was always asked. Permission was always granted.

When they separated, Carol's eyes flickered to the bathroom behind Therese, head cocked to the side. Therese followed her stare and linked their fingers together, leading the way to the tub. Their clothes were shed, steaming water soon filled the tub, and they slipped in with their hands still intertwined.

Despite the sparse area the tub provided them, Carol managed to stretch her long legs, Therese settled between them, her back to the older woman's front. She traced the drops of water on the back of Carol's hands, bringing them to her lips every now and then to mouth at the skin there.

The blonde's gaze was filled to the brim with affection, although Therese could not see it.

“Tell me more,” mumbled the girl against Carol's palm.

“About what?”

“You. Rindy. Abby. I don't care. Just tell me more. I love hearing you talk.”

The water splashed against the sides of the tub as Carol shifted behind her, sifting through the stories and details she had already explained to Therese during their trip.

“Rindy's favorite Christmas song is ‘The Little Drummer Boy,’ ” she began, almost lazily. “She heard it when she was very young, hardly a day over four, and it's been her favorite ever since. She keeps hinting to me to buy her a drum set, but you know how children are. One second they love blue, the next, red.”

“Adults are like that, too,” breathed Therese, handing Carol the bar of soap that rested on a small shelf next to her. She held back a groan when she felt soothing circles being rubbed into the stiff muscles of her back. “Fickle things, we are.”

Carol hummed in reply. As if to experiment, she allowed her fingernails to scrape over the vertebrae in Therese's back, and the groan the girl had been holding in escaped in a less animalistic whimper.

“Perceptive, aren't you?”

Therese giggled despite herself.

Carol said, “When I was fifteen I had my first kiss.”

The brunette blushed profusely, head falling forward in a fruitless attempt to hide her sheepishness. “Mine was at seventeen.”

“I would have never guessed. You kiss so well it takes my breath away.”

The words were murmured against Therese's ear, and she whined lowly, head tilting to the side in search of Carol's sweet lips.

“Abby calls me when she can't sleep,” Carol said thoughtfully into Therese's mouth. “She has the most splendid things to say at one in the morning." Although she would never have asked Therese, it seemed as if the girl's kisses grew harsher at her comment. “Are you not fond of Abby, Therese?”

Sighing, the brunette leaned back a centimeter. She searched Carol's endless eyes for an answer but only found her own reflection.

“I haven't even met her yet. But if you're asking me about my assumption of her, then no, I'm not fond of her in the way you are. How could I be? I'm not jealous, if that's what you think. You said whatever was between you was over; I trust you. If you remain close with Abby, then I will be amiable with her. But I don't think she'll enjoy me very much.”

Carol smiled at her knowingly, shaking her head. “Abby always was one to be, ah, overly fond of things. She has a good heart. Brimming with emotion; she just can't wait to love someone and have them love her back, unconditionally.” She placed one last peck on Therese's lips before pouring some shampoo into her palms and massaging the girl's scalp, transfixed on the invisible shapes she traced.

“Why were you drawn to her, if you don't mind my asking?”

Carol nipped at the tip of her spine for her unnecessary politeness, fingers still working in her chestnut strands. She said, “I loved Abby, but there was something about her, something feral that I couldn't process the same way she could. It was interesting at first; she was the refreshing cold air in my dry life. But she was also terrified of losing me to Harge when we were together that she lost sight of the fact of the present—the reality that we were together at the time, and she had me in every possible way.”

“Was she possessive?”

“Abby is blunt but I don't think that's an appropriate word for her. It's too harsh.” A moment of silence as Carol thought, rinsing her soapy hands in the water. “Yearning. She looked for someone who was ready to love fully. At the time, I was not. I had only part of my love to give.”

By this time Therese was running her fingertips over the water's silky surface, frowning. Carol cupped water in her hands and rinsed the white from her dark hair, nuzzling into the spot directly behind her ear.

Therese wondered if Abby had felt the same craving desire for Carol's touch as she did.

“I'm ready to love wholly now," said Carol. “There's something different about the way I loved Abby and the way I love you.”

“We're two different people.” If Carol didn't know her any better, she'd say Therese was snapping at her. But she was well-aware of Therese Belivet, and her bitter words only made the older woman pull her in closer, placing placating kisses to her shoulders. “You're patronizing me.”

“Hush, Therese, you must relax.” She grinned against damp skin. Never in her life had she met someone with a personality quite like the brunette's. “We are two sides of the same coin, you and me.”

“Oh, are we?” Carol's grin was mirrored on Therese's delicate features. “How so?”

“I, for one thing, am much older.”

“But you're beautiful just the same.”

“You're being sentimental.”

“I'm simply reading between the lines.”

Carol smirked. “With age comes experience,” she continued, “wisdom, kindness...” The memory of driving Therese to the train station while Carol herself was a wreck filtered its way into her mind. “...or not so much. And our hair color is different.”

Therese laughed out loud, standing from the tub and stepping out, tugging on Carol's hand in the hopes that she would do the same. After the blonde stood, the girl tossed her a towel, but she let it hit the floor, instead taking to stepping impossibly closer to Therese, fronts flush. Carol could smell the faint scent of violets in Therese's hair.

“We're like the moon and sun,” the brunette finally said, tone quiet and measured. Her inhibition was making its unwelcome return; Carol could tell by the fleeting look in her dark eyes. “Always trying to be together, but never managing it. Separated by the atmosphere and endless stars.”

“Now that's not true,” Carol chided. “The sun is quite bright, and the moon can very well see it from its proximity with the earth. It's not as bad as you think.”

“You of all people should know what it's like to be separated from someone you love.”

Carol withdrew immediately, her exterior becoming cool, indifferent.

“I'm sorry, Carol. I didn't mean it.” Therese looked at her with tired eyes, irises holding the weight of the world in them. “My heart aches when you're not with me. At first I thought it was my imagination, but now I've noticed it because it happens more frequently. Hell, I can't even swallow the lump in my throat when you stop to get ice.” A short laugh saturated with melancholy burst from her lips.

“Young girls and their melodrama.”

“Carol.”

The older woman kissed her languidly as a substitute for an apology, fingers combing through dark, wet locks. No matter how many times they embraced, Carol never failed to be startled by the humbleness in Therese's kisses. They were far from feeble, passionate and full of life, yet they held the package of youth in them—giddiness in abundance. Something Abby had had, as well, though she had been closer to Carol's age and disconcertingly caustic at times.

The blonde's hand fell to the girl's sharp jaw, angling her face upwards so that she could scrutinize her lover's enigmatic eyes. Add a tinge of dark blue, she mused, and they would have resembled the night sky.

“I suspect,” Carol articulated, “that you have flowers growing in your heart, and your soul is”—she sighed into the brief press of their lips—“simply the fumes of those flowers concentrated into something unbelievably sweet.”

“Have you ever considered a writing career?”

Carol laughed.

“I'm serious. Your words are stunning.”

“I could write and you would take the pictures.”

Silence took over for a long while, giving Carol enough time to go into the other room and put on suitable clothes, while Therese thoroughly dried her hair. Carol was putting on earrings when the girl crossed the room to search through her suitcase.

“I moved your dress into my suitcase the last time we packed,” Carol said from where she sat on the bed. “It wasn't going to fit in yours.”

Therese put her tongue in her cheek and glanced over her shoulder, tone playful. “Who said I was looking for the dress?”

“Well, it makes you look particularly glorious, so I'd assumed you'd want to wear it as often as possible.”

“You know me better than anyone,” Therese murmured.

Carol ran her hand over the brunette's bare arm as she passed by her.

“You are my other half,” she breathed back.

 

*

 

Twenty-eight hours.

Twenty-eight hours and six minutes was the exact duration of time since Therese had last seen Carol Aird.

She was distraught.

And Abby was pissed.

As Therese stumbled back into the car after getting sick—for the third time—on a meadow lining a back road, she noticed the older woman scowling through the windshield. She remained silent when she opened the passenger side door and climbed into the car, swallowing hard as Abby resumed driving. The road was bumpy, and it would have had Therese's teeth jostling if they weren’t already doing so from her uncontrollable shivering. She noticed Abby glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” she demanded, although it came out far less raucously than she thought it would.

Abby dug into her coat pocket to pull out a cigarette and a lighter. With her eyes still on the road, she put the chemical relief between her lips and lit it unceremoniously. She took a deep drag, blowing smoke out, watching it curl over the dashboard, to the roof. After clearing her throat and taking another drag she addressed the other woman's question.

“I know the look in your eyes. I've seen it in my own before. It's the abyss that accompanies loving her.” Her tone was cold, brown eyes steely. Looking as if she had never even loved the perplexing blonde.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Therese replied coolly, raising her knees to her chest. She rested her chin on her trembling knees.

“Therese Belivet.”

“Abby Gerhard.” Therese had never been partial to arguments, but there was an aspect about Abby that bothered her beyond compare.

(She suspected it was the older woman's unquestionable irritation at Therese for having mutual feelings with the woman she used to love—despite her forced protestations—but she kept this thought to herself. Abby was her ride home, after all, and she had made a promise hardly over a day ago to be civil with the woman.)

“She's like a storm,” said Abby, all the previous fire in her voice diminished. “Or fog. Always escaping your grasp no matter how hard you try to catch her. Elusive. Enigmatic. Making you feel hazy—thinking that maybe you could get lost in her for ages.” She paused, rolling her window down and taking a final, bitter drag on her cigarette before flicking it into the wind. “But get too caught up and you’re bound to get hurt.”

Therese swore her heart skipped a beat.

“Don't be fooled into thinking she's the only one,” Abby muttered.

“And yet, here I sit, wondering if you're telling the truth.” Despite her morose words, her tone held little ill-spirit in it.

Abby sniffed once, twice, expression blasé; grip tight on the steering wheel.

Therese commented, “You seem resentful.”

“Of what?”

“Carol.”

The older brunette turned her head to stare at Therese with calculating eyes. “Carol is my best friend, but I loved her too much and she had to let me go. She's done the same to you. And I'm sorry. I've never seen her look at someone the way she looked at you,” she added softly, twisting away. Tears threatened to gather in her eyes, but she shook her head to rid herself of them.

Therese stared at her pale hands, teeth sinking into her lower lip as she roved over Abby's confession.

“She reminds me of the sun,” Therese sighed, not quite paying attention anymore.

“Dazzling, burning,” Abby said, nearly inaudible. “Exploding in a spectacle of light that wipes out anything close to it. Then again, once you look into the sun, you can never go back. And in that moment, before everything you know is destroyed, you can't help but think that staring into the ethereal light was the key to unlock the ambrosia for your soul.”

Therese cried silently into the night.

 

*

  
Nothing was empty between them.

Therese’s attempt at masking her emotions was useless; Carol had identified her pain long before this staged meeting, when she had seen her through the blurry window in the cab. Her dark eyes said one thing, her lips, another.

She had grown breathtakingly older in the time they spent apart. She was a woman now, no longer the hesitant girl Carol had spotted so long ago in the drab department store.  
Minutes sitting there with the restaurant’s ambiance and white-noise beating against her eardrums, matching the pounding of her heart. The build-up was stifling.

“I love you,” Carol whispered.

Therese stared at her, the air heavy with the words sitting on the tip of her tongue, but then the man came and intended to whisk her away.

Her hand resting on the brunette’s shoulder, such a subtly intimate position between them. But it was not enough.

She was gone like fog, before Carol even had enough time to reach out and catch her.

 *

She saw Carol sitting at the table and everything hit her at once.

Flashes of the life before, of the life they could have had after.

Rindy on a swing-set, Carol in her fur coat behind her. Both of them laughing.

Whispered “I love you”s and tangled limbs in cool sheets. Cigarette smoke weaved into the air. The click of her camera as she took a picture of Carol, adding to her ever-expanding collection.

Therese felt her blood warm at the sight of such a staggeringly gorgeous woman—the woman who held her heart. Her chest throbbed with the shadow of loneliness, but the smile that curled the end of Carol's lips expelled it.

Abby was right.

Carol Aird would always be her ambrosia.


End file.
